Paradise Bend

  CHAPTER VII

  PARADISE BEND

  Where the Dogsoldier River doubles on itself between Baldy Mountain andthe Government Hills sprawls the little town of Paradise Bend. Largerthan Farewell, it boasted of two stores, a Wells Fargo office, twodance halls, and five saloons. The inevitable picket line of emptybottles and tin cans encircled it, and its main street and three crossstreets were made unlovely by the familiar false fronts and waveringlymisspelt signs.

  Loudon stared at the prospect with a pessimistic eye. Solitude--he hadparted with Captain Burr the previous day--and the introspectionengendered thereby had rendered him gloomy. The sulky devil that hadprompted him to seek a quarrel with Sheriff Block abode with him still.Sullenly he checked his horse in front of the Chicago Store.

  "Mornin'," said Loudon, addressing a dilapidated ancient sitting on acracker box. "Can yuh tell me where Cap'n Burr lives?"

  "Howdy, stranger?" replied the elderly person, eying with extremedisfavour the 88 brand on Ranger's hip. "I shore can. Ride on downpast the Three Card, turn to the left, an' keep a-goin'. It's the lasthouse."

  Loudon nodded and continued on his way. The ancient followed him withalert eyes.

  When Loudon drew abreast of the Three Card Saloon a man issued from thedoorway, glimpsed Ranger's brand, and immediately hastened into thestreet and greeted Loudon after the fashion of an old friend.

  "C'mon an' licker," invited the man, as Loudon checked his horse.

  "Now that's what I call meetin' yuh with a brass band," remarkedLoudon. "Do yuh always make a stranger to home this-away?"

  "Always," grinned the other. "I'm the reception committee."

  "I'm trailin' yuh," said Loudon, dismounting.

  He flung the reins over Ranger's head and followed the cordialindividual into the saloon. While they stood at the bar Loudon tookstock of the other man.

  He was a good-looking young fellow, strong-chinned, straight-mouthed,with brown hair and eyes. His expression was winning, too winning, andthere was a certain knowing look in his eye that did not appeal toLoudon. The latter drank his whisky slowly, his brain busily searchingfor the key to the other man's conduct.

  "Gambler, I guess," he concluded. "I must look like ready money.Here's where one tinhorn gets fooled."

  After commenting at some length on the extraordinary dryness of theseason, Loudon's bottle-acquaintance, under cover of the loud-voicedconversation of three punchers at the other end of the bar, said in alow tone:

  "Couldn't Sam come?"

  Loudon stared. The other noted his mystification, and mistook it.

  "I'm Pete O'Leary," he continued. "It's all right."

  "Shore it is," conceded the puzzled Loudon. "My name's Loudon. Haveanother."

  The knowing look in Pete O'Leary's eyes was displaced by one ofdistrust. He drank abstractedly, mumbled an excuse about having to seea man, and departed.

  Loudon bought half-a-dozen cigars, stuffed five into the pocket of hisshirt, lit the sixth, and went out to his horse. Puffing strongly, hemounted and turned into the street designated by the dilapidatedancient. As he loped past the corner he glanced over his shoulder. Henoted that not only was Pete O'Leary watching him from the window of adance hall, but that the tattered old person, leaning against ahitching rail, was observing him also.

  "I might be a hoss-thief or somethin'," muttered Loudon with a frown."This shore is a queer village o' prairie dogs. The cigar's good,anyway." Then, his horse having covered a hundred yards in theinterval, he quoted, "'Couldn't Sam come?' an', 'I'm Pete O'Leary.'Sam, Sam, who's Sam? Now if Johnny Ramsay was here he'd have it allfigured out in no time."

  "Why, Mr. Loudon! Oh, wait! Do wait!"

  Loudon turned his head. In the doorway of a house stood a plump youngwoman waving a frantic dish-cloth. Ranger, hard held, slid to a halt,turned on a nickel, and shot back to the beckoning young woman.

  "Well, ma'am," said Loudon, removing his hat.

  "Don't you remember me?" coquettishly pouted the plump lady.

  Loudon remembered her perfectly. She was Mrs. Mace, wife of Jim Mace,a citizen of Paradise Bend. He had met her the year before when shewas visiting Kate Saltoun at the Bar S. He had not once thought ofMrs. Mace since her departure from the ranch, and of course he hadcompletely forgotten that she lived in Paradise Bend. If he hadrecalled the fact, he would have sought the Burrs' residence by someother route. One of Kate's friends was the last person on earth hecared to meet.

  "Shore, I remember yuh, Mrs. Mace," said Loudon, gravely. "I'm rightglad to see yuh," he added, heavily polite.

  "Are you?" said the lady somewhat sharply. "Try to look happy then. Iain't a grizzly, an' I don't bite folks. I won't stop you more'n asecond."

  "Why, ma'am, I am glad to see yuh," protested Loudon, "an' I ain't inno hurry, honest."

  "That's all right. I ain't offended. Say, how's Kate an' her pa?"

  "Fine when I saw 'em last. Kate's as pretty as ever."

  "She ought to be. She ain't married. Matrimony shore does rough up awoman's figure an' face. Lord, I'm a good thirty pounds heavier than Iwas when I saw you last. Say, do you know if Kate got that dresspattern I sent her last month?"

  "I dunno, ma'am. I didn't hear her say."

  "I s'pose not. I guess you two had more important things to talkabout. Say, how are you an' Kate gettin' along, anyway?"

  "Why, all right, I guess."

  Loudon felt extremely unhappy. Mrs. Mace's keen gaze was embarrassing.So was her next utterance.

  "Well, I guess I'll write to Kate," remarked the lady, "an' find outabout that dress pattern. She always was a poor writer, but she'dought to have sent me a thank-you anyway, an' me her best friend. I'lltell her I saw yuh, Mr. Loudon."

  "Don't tell her on my account," said Loudon. Then, realizing hismistake, he continued hurriedly, "Shore, tell her. She'd enjoyhearin', o' course."

  "Don't tell me you two haven't been quarrellin'," chided Mrs. Mace,shaking a fat forefinger at Loudon. "You'd ought to be ashamed ofyourselves, rowin' this way."

  "Why, ma'am, yo're mistaken. Me quarrel? I guess not! But I got tobe goin'. Good-bye, ma'am. I'll see yuh again."

  Loudon, raging, loped away. Meeting one of Kate's friends was badenough in itself. For the friend wantonly to flick him on the raw wasintolerable.

  Loudon began to believe that women were put into the world for thepurpose of annoying men. But when he had dismounted in front of thebest house on the street, and the door had been opened in response tohis knock, he changed his mind, for a brown-haired young girl with avery pleasant smile was looking at him inquiringly.

  "Is this where Captain Burr lives?" queried Loudon.

  "Yes," replied the girl, her smile broadening.

  "Then here's a letter for Mis' Burr. The Cap'n asked me to bring it upfor him."

  "A letter for me?" exclaimed a sharp voice, and the speaker, a tall,angular, harsh-featured woman, appeared at the girl's side with thesuddenness of a Jack-in-the-box. "From Benjamin?" continued theharsh-featured woman, uttering her words with the rapidity of amachine-gun's fire. "How is he? When d'you see him last? When's hecomin' home?"

  "Heavens, Ma!" laughed the girl, before Loudon could make any reply."Give the poor man a chance to breathe."

  "You got to excuse me, stranger," said Mrs. Burr. "But I'm always soworried about Benjamin when he's travellin'. He's so venturesome. Butcome in, stranger. Come in an' rest yore hat. Dinner's 'most ready."

  "Why, thank yuh, ma'am," stuttered the embarrassed Loudon. "But Iguess I'll go to the hotel."

  "I guess yuh won't!" snapped Mrs. Burr. "I never let one o' myhusband's friends 'cept Scotty Mackenzie eat at the hotel yet, an' Iain't goin' to begin now. You'll just come right inside an' tell meall about Benjamin while yo're eatin'. That your hoss? Well, thecorral's behind the house. Dorothy, you go with the gentleman an' seethat he don't stampede."

  Loudon, brick-red beneath his tan, seiz
ed Ranger's bridle and followedMiss Burr to the corral. While he was unsaddling he looked up andcaught her eying him amusedly. He grinned and she laughed outright.

  "I'm glad you didn't stampede," she said, her brown eyes twinkling."Mother would have been heart-broken if you had. Whenever any of Dad'sfriends are in town they never think of eating at the hotel--exceptScotty Mackenzie. Scotty stubbornly refuses to dine with us. He saysmother's cooking takes away his appetite for what he calls ranch grub.Mother is really a wonderful cook. You'll see."

  In this manner was the ice broken, and Loudon's sullen gloom had gonefrom him by the time he entered the Burr kitchen. On the Turkey-redtablecloth a broiled steak, surrounded by roasted potatoes, reposed ona platter. Flanking the platter were a bowl of peas and a large dishof sliced beets adrip with butter sauce. Loudon's eyes opened wide inamazement. Never in all his life had he beheld such an appetizingarray of edibles.

  "Looks good, don't it?" beamed Mrs. Burr.

  It was wonderful how her smile transformed her forbidding features. ToLoudon she appeared as a benevolent angel. He could only nod dumbly.

  "Set now, an' don't be afraid o' the victuals," continued Mrs. Burr,filling the coffee-cups. "It all has to be et, an' I shore do hate tochuck out good grub. Lord, it makes me feel fine to cook for a managain! What did you say yore name is, Mister? ... Loudon, o' course; Inever can catch a name the first time. I always got to hear it twice.Dorothy, you reach over an' dish out them peas an' beets. Take thatpiece of steak next the bone, Mister Loudon. Like gravy on yore'taters? Most do. My man does, special. Here's a spoon. Dorothy,pass the bread."

  Everything tasted even better than it looked. Loudon ate a secondpiece of dried-apple pie, and had a fourth cup of coffee to top offwith. To the puncher it had been a marvellous dinner. No wonderScotty Mackenzie demurred at dining with the Burrs. After one suchmeal sowbelly and Miners Delights would be as bootsole and buckshot.

  "You can smoke right here," said Mrs. Burr, after Loudon had refused afifth cup of coffee. "Shove yore chair back agin' the wall, hook upyore feet, an' be happy while Dorothy an' I wash the dishes. I like tosee a man comfortable, I do. So you know my brother. Well, well,ain't the world a small place? How're Jack an' the Cross-in-a-boxmakin' out? He never thinks to write, Jack Richie don't, the lazyrapscallion. Wait till I set eyes on him. I'll tell him a thing ortwo."

  Loudon, in no haste to find Scotty Mackenzie, was smoking his fifthcigarette when the dilapidated ancient of the cracker box stuck hishead in the door.

  "Howdy, Mis' Burr?" said the ancient. "Howdy, Dorothy?"

  "'Lo, Scotty," chorused the two women. "Let me make yuh acquaintedwith Mr. Loudon, Scotty," continued Mrs. Burr. "Mr. Loudon, shakehands with Mr. Mackenzie."

  Loudon gripped hands with the ragged ancient. In the latter's brightblue eyes was no friendliness.

  He acknowledged the introduction with careful politeness, and sat downon a chair in a corner. Having deftly rolled a cigarette, he flippedthe match through the doorway, tilted back his chair, remarked that theweather was powerful dry, and relapsed into silence. He took nofurther part in the conversation.

  At the end of the kitchen, between the windows, hung a small mirror.Loudon, idly watching the two women as they moved about resetting thetable, happened to glance at the mirror. In it he saw reflected theface of Scotty Mackenzie.

  The features were twisted into an almost demoniac expression of hate.Slowly Loudon turned his head. Mackenzie, his eyes on the floor, wassmoking, his expression one of serene well-being.

  "He don't like me any," decided Loudon, and pondered the advisabilityof asking Mackenzie for a job.

  It was not Mackenzie's lack of friendliness that gave Loudon pause. Itwas the man's appearance. Even for the West, where attire does notmake the man, Mackenzie had not an inspiring presence. His trousersshowed several patches and a rip or two. His vest was in a worse statethan his trousers. His blue flannel shirt had turned green in spots,and the left sleeve had once belonged to a red flannel undershirt. Twoholes yawned in the corner of his floppy-brimmed hat, and his boots,run over at the heels, would have shamed a tramp.

  That this economically garbed individual could prove a good employerseemed doubtful. Yet he had been recommended by Jack Richie.

  Mackenzie suddenly mumbled that he guessed he'd better be going, androse to his feet. Loudon followed him into the street. Mackenziehalted and half-turned as Loudon caught up with him. Loudon noted thatthe ancient's hand was closer to his gun-butt than politeness and thecircumstances warranted.

  "Hirin' any men?" inquired Loudon.

  "I might," replied Mackenzie, the pupils of his blue eyes shrunk topin-points. "Who, for instance?"

  "Me for one."

  Mackenzie continued to stare. Loudon, who never lowered his eyes toany man, steadily returned the ancient's gaze.

  "Yo're hired," said Mackenzie, suddenly. "Git yore hoss. I'll meetyuh at the corner o' Main Street."

  Mackenzie walked rapidly away, and Loudon returned to the house of theBurrs. He took his leave of the two engaging women, the elder of whompressed him repeatedly to come again, and went out to the corral.

  While Loudon awaited his employer's arrival at the corner of MainStreet he saw Pete O'Leary emerge from the doorway of the Three CardSaloon and walk toward him. But the young man of the knowing brown eyedid not cross the street. He nodded to Loudon and swung round thecorner.

  The Lazy River man shifted sidewise in the saddle and followed him withhis eyes. Pete O'Leary interested Loudon. Folk that are mysteriouswill bear watching, and O'Leary's manner during his conversation withLoudon had been perplexingly vague.

  "Now I wonder where that nice-lookin' young fellah is goin'?" debatedLoudon. "Burrs', for a plugged nickel! Yep, there he goes in thedoor. Well, Mis' Burr ain't a fool, but if I owned a good-lookin'daughter, that Pete O'Leary ain't just the right brand o' party I'dwant should come a-skirmishin' round."

  Loudon's mental soliloquy was cut short by the arrival of Mackenzie.The ancient's appalling disregard for his personal appearance did notextend to his mount and saddlery. His horse was a handsome bay. Thesaddle he sat in was a Billings swell-fork tree, with a silver horn,silver conchas, carved leather skirts and cantle, and snowflake leatherstrings. The bridle was a split-ear, with a nose-band even moremarvellously carved than the saddle, and it sported a blue steel bit,silver inlaid, and eighteen-inch rein-chains. The most exacting dandyin cowland could not have obtained better equipment.

  Beyond a momentless sentence or two Mackenzie said nothing as he andhis new hand rode out into the valley of the Dogsoldier. He maintainedhis silence till Loudon, muttering that his cinches requiredtightening, checked Ranger and dismounted.

  "Throw up yore hands!" was the harsh order that fell on Loudon'sastonished ears.

  Hands above his head, Loudon turned slowly and stared into the muzzleof a well-kept six-shooter. Behind the gun gleamed the frosty blueeyes of Scotty Mackenzie.

  "Got anythin' to say before I leave yuh?" inquired Mackenzie.

  "That depends on how yuh leave me," countered Loudon. "If yo're justaimin' to say, 'So long,' yuh can't go too quick. Yo're a mite tooabrupt to suit me. But if yore intention is hostile, then I got awhole lot to say."

  "Hostile it is, young feller. Trot out yore speech."

  "That's handsome enough for a dog. First, I'd shore admire to know whyyo're hostile."

  "You know."

  "I don't yet," denied Loudon.

  Scotty Mackenzie stared woodenly. His features betrayed no hint of hispurpose. He might have been gazing at a cow or a calf or the kitchenstove. Nevertheless Loudon realized that the amazing old man waswithin a whisper of pulling trigger.

  "Yuh see," observed Loudon, forcing his lips to smile pleasantly, "itain't the goin' away I mind so much--it's the not knowin' why. I getoff to fix cinches, an' yuh throw down on me. I ain't done nothin' toyuh--I ain't never seen yuh before, an' I d
on't believe I've ever metup with any o' yore relations, so----"

  "Yo're from the 88," interrupted Mackenzie. "That's enough!"

  "Bein' from the 88," said Loudon, "is shore a bad recommend for anyman. But it just happens I'm from the Bar S. I never have rode forthe 88, an' I don't think I ever will."

  "What are yuh doin' with a 88 hoss?" pursued the unrelenting Mackenzie.

  "88 hoss? Why, that little hoss is my hoss. I bought him from the 88."

  "The brand ain't vented."

  "I know it ain't. At the time I bought him I didn't expect to have totell the story o' my life to every old bushwhacker in the territory, orI shore would 'a' had that brand vented."

  The six-shooter in Mackenzie's hand remained steady. In his chill blueeyes was no flicker of indecision. Loudon was still smiling, but hefelt that his end was near.

  "Say," said Loudon, "when you've done left me, I wish yuh'd send myhoss an' saddle to Johnny Ramsay o' the Cross in-a-box. Johnny's atthe Bar S now--got a few holes in him. But you send the hoss to JackRichie an' tell him to keep him for Johnny till he comes back. Don'tmind doin' that, do yuh? Ain't aimin' to keep the cayuse, are yuh?"

  "Do you know Johnny Ramsay?" queried Mackenzie.

  "Ought to. Johnny an' me've been friends for years."

  "Know Jack Richie?"

  "Know him 'most as well as I do Johnny. An' I know Cap'n Burr, too.Didn't yuh see me there at his house?"

  "The Cap'n knows lots o' folks, an' it ain't hard to scrapeacquaintance with a couple o' soft-hearted women."

  "I brought up a letter from Cap'n Burr to his wife. You ask her."

  "Oh, shore. Yuh might 'a' carried a letter an' still be what I takeyuh for.'"

  "Now we're back where we started. What do yuh take me for?"

  Mackenzie made no reply. Again there fell between the two men thatspirit-breaking silence. It endured a full five minutes, to be brokenfinally by Mackenzie.

  "Git aboard yore hoss," said the ranch-owner. "An' don't go after nogun."

  "I'd rather draw what's comin' to me on the ground," objected Loudon."It ain't so far to fall."

  "Ain't nothin' comin' to yuh yet. Git aboard, go on to the ranch, an'tell my foreman, Doubleday, I sent yuh, an' that I won't be back yetawhile."

  "I ain't so shore I want to work for yuh now."

  "There ain't no two ways about it. You'll either give me yore word togo on to the ranch an' stay there till I come, or yuh'll stay righthere. After I come back yuh can quit if yuh like."

  "That's a harp with another tune entirely. I'll go yuh."

  Loudon turned to his horse and swung into the saddle.

  "Keep a-goin' along this trail," directed Mackenzie, his six-shooterstill covering Loudon. "It's about eight mile to the ranch."

  Loudon did not look back as he rode away.